


Magic, Mr. Holmes (x reader insert)

by CreepyCat101



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Multi, Reader Insert
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-24
Updated: 2017-04-21
Packaged: 2018-09-19 17:14:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 2,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9451859
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CreepyCat101/pseuds/CreepyCat101
Summary: Reader is a witch (or wizard) and works for the ministry as an Auror. After a string of attacks in London, the British Government (a.k.a Mycroft) and the Ministry of Magic join forces (oh god) to track the killer down. Shenanigans ensue.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Right, this is my first fanfic so please don't judge me to harshly, but comments and constructive criticisms are always welcome. If you have any suggestions then please don't hesitate to say so! I will see about updating if people are interested in it. 
> 
> I own nothing except the plot and my OCs. The Sherlock and Harry Potter franchises belong to their respective owners.

Sherlock’s POV:

This was getting ridiculous. A string of murders was occurring in London under my nose, and I didn’t even have an inkling about what was going on. Nothing made sense. The most the witnesses ever saw was a green flash, if that, and the witnesses themselves were few and far between. It was infuriating to say the least. Lestrade was practically living at Scotland Yard and John and I were nearly tearing our hair out with the lack of evidence. Well, I was at least. Molly was stressing out as well and even her superiors were lost about the cause of death. The victims showed no offensive wounds whatsoever and the post mortems said heart failure, but it made no sense. Most of the victims had no cardiovascular diseases or complications at all in their medical records and had no symptoms to speak of. Nothing linked the murders. Not the locations, not their records, not even the people themselves. Something was stirring in the underbelly of city. I didn’t think it was Moriarty. No, he always gives me something to go on, no matter how small, how inconsequential. These killings gave me nothing. Nothing to work with, nothing to do. I couldn’t predict what the killer would do or even how many killers there were. There were no motives that I could find. Nothing to link the two parties together. Absolutely nothing.

Your POV:

You had just finished your shift in the auror office (thank god; paperwork can be a total bitch) when one of your superiors sent a memo to your desk, demanding you to join him and the minister for an emergency meeting at his office in ten minutes. You swore violently, grabbed your report and legged it down the Ministry’s many corridors towards one of the lifts, your robes flapping behind you. You squeezed in between two chatting unspeakables on their way to their lunch breaks (the lucky bastards) and pressed the correct button, tapping your foot on the floor of the lift as the operator pulled the lever to shut the door. You got out with three minutes to spare and quickly made your way down the hall to the Minister’s office.

You steadied your breathing and straightened your cloak, then knocked sharply on the black wooden door. It opened almost immediately and you stepped hesitantly over the threshold into the darkened room, wondering why you had been summoned. Behind the desk sat the Minister of Magic herself, Hermione Granger, looking stressed out but hiding it well. To the right stood your direct superior and colleague William Mandrake, Head of the Auror office. And to the left stood… well, you’d never seen him before. He dressed like a man with plenty of money and was clearly important, but you couldn’t remember seeing him anywhere, and you got around a _lot_. A squib then? No, he smelt uncomfortable, more than a squib should in this situation. He smelt… muggle?


	2. Chapter 2

_He smelt... muggle?_

Your POV:

  
What was a muggle doing in the heart of the ministry? Something must be seriously wrong for us to even contact part of the non-magical community, let alone bring one into our world. “Ah, (Y/L/N), you made it”. Your head twitched slightly; you had forgotten your boss was still there, you were so focussed on trying to figure out who the mysterious muggle was.

“I am sure you are wondering what you are doing here at such short notice.”

“Yes, sir”, you replied, keeping your eyes trained on the newcomer. You could see it was starting to make him feel uncomfortable. He gave no physical sign of him being nervous, but you could start to smell the tang of, well, not _fear_ exactly, wariness... perhaps.

“Is it something to do with the attacks in London?” you asked without moving your head, your (Y/E/C) gaze boring into the newcomer’s face.

“That is correct, Auror (Y/L/N). I see you’ve noticed our guest; I’m sure it would be much appreciated if you _stopped_ making him feel like prey.” With that you tore your eyes off the man you had been watching intently and focussed on the person who had just spoken, the minister herself. You dropped your gaze, your turn to feel uncomfortable, and muttered a quick apology. He gave no indication of him hearing you and instead turned his gaze to Granger.

“I’m going to assume that this is the person that will be working with our government.” Said the mystery man in one of the most condescending voices I’ve ever heard, and that’s saying something. Professor Snape is still number one though.

“That is correct Mr. Holmes. This is Auror (Y/N) (Y/L/N), one of our best.”

“Good. Are you ready?” You looked at him, confused.

“Pardon?”

“Are you deaf?! I said, are you ready?”

“For what?”

“… you haven’t briefed your task force, have you.”

“We have been dealing with other … matters.”

“Brilliant. You, be ready in 10 minutes. You’re meeting my brother and he doesn’t know about all… this.” He sweeps his arm, gesturing at the room. “So get ready for copious amounts of sarcasm and _lots_ of questions.”


	3. Chapter 3

_“…You’re meeting my brother and he doesn’t know about all… this.” He sweeps his arm, gesturing at the room. “So get ready for copious amounts of sarcasm and_ lots _of questions.”_

Sherlock’s POV:

  
John watched as I paced up and down the flat, thinking about the series of killings over the last month. “No physical injuries, no trace of any kind of poisoning, no exceptional medical records, not even a sign of a break in… whoever they are, they’re good.” I muttered.

“Have you got anything from Molly or Lestrade?” asked John, for the fifth time in one afternoon. “No, now shut up, I’m trying to think. I need to visit my mind palace.” John grumbled something about me ‘getting all shirty’ now we had this new case and then ambled off to make himself a new cup of tea, but before he could get through the connecting doorway the doorbell rang. “Get it, would you?” Scowling even more, John stomped off to get the door which was then followed by an almost gleeful ‘Oh hello Mycroft, Sherlock’s just upstairs.’ I sighed and braced myself for the inevitable sarcasm that would surely follow my brother’s visit.

I tuned into their conversation that was floating up into the flat thanks to the open window. “Hello again Dr. Watson. Oh, do go and warn Sherlock that we’re going to be having guests over so be nice. And tell him it’s got something to do with the killings.”  “Something to do with…” “YES, Dr. Watson. Something to do with the murders.” Now this was interesting. The person Mycroft was bringing over… they can’t have been a witness or a new lead because he’d have just turned up if that was the case, they weren’t the killer themselves, so they must be a new player who had expertise in this field and was worth consulting (heh), but whoever they were Mycroft either thought they were dangerous or would find their reaction to me amusing. Or both. I smirked in anticipation.

“Uh, Mycroft says that…” “We’re having guests over so be nice and it's got something to do with our little conundrum. Yes. I know.” “I wouldn’t call six people dead ‘little’.” “And that is why I’m the detective and you’re the blogger.” John sighed and plopped down into his armchair. “I dunno why Mycroft’s bringing in another person. You’re the best in the business.”

“I think you’ll find my area of expertise is… a little different to what you’re used to.” We turned around to meet the unfamiliar voice. There, stood in the doorway, was our new player. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Damn these chapters always look so short when I post them.

Your POV:

_… “I think you’ll find my area of expertise is… a little different to what you’re used to.” We turned to around to meet the unfamiliar voice. There, stood in the doorway, was our new player._

You had arrived at an unassuming flat in central London, flanked by other similarly unassuming flats and, for some reason, a cafe. You looked (and smelt) around, noting the apparent lack of any magical influences and grimaced. You would have preferred to have someone in the vicinity who could contain you if you got… agitated. Someone coughed impatiently from behind you and tapped your heels with what you guessed was an umbrella. You growled slightly and moved forwards.

“Let me do the talking, alright?” sighed ‘Mr. Holmes’.

“Fine, but can you at least tell me your real name first? It’s going to be awkward if we’re supposed to be working together and we don’t even know each other’s names.”

“But I already know your name,” he smirked “And you’ll find out mine soon enough anyway.”

“That’s not even a good reason!” you yelled at his retreating back. “Whatever. I didn’t care anyway.” You stopped yourself there when you realised you were beginning to sound like a spoilt child and followed the man through the doorway and up the stairs. The insufferable one was waiting at the top and motioned you to proceed through the open door, where you caught the tail end of the inhabitant’s conversation: “I dunno why Mycroft’s bringing in another person. You’re the best in the business.” “I think you’ll find my area of expertise is… a little different to what you’re used to.” You replied with a smirk.


	5. Chapter 5

Your POV:

_... “I think you’ll find my area of expertise is… a little different to what you’re used to.” You replied with a smirk._

“Don’t smirk like that, dear. It doesn’t suit you.” Came the voice of your aunt, or, as you called her, Auntie H. “AUNTIE!”

“What? I’m not allowed to say hello to my favourite-”

“YOU KNOW MRS. HUDSON?!”

“Of course they do, John. Where do you think I go every Tuesday evening on the third week of each second month? To play bingo? Honestly.” Your aunt sighed in exasperation and shook her head. “I’m going to assume you’re here to help Sherlock on his case and therefore going to do a demonstration.”

“Mhm.” Was your reply.

“Don’t mumble dear.”

“Sorry.” You heard a snigger from behind you and both you and your aunt turned your heads simultaneously to regard the so called ‘older brother’ with twin glares, your iris’ colouring slightly yellow with annoyance. Your aunt noticed immediately and shooed the irritant- no, you thought, stop. Referring to people as things or objects was the first major red flag of your diminishing self-control, something you couldn’t afford to lose, especially not now. Not after you had worked so hard to maintain the discipline needed to suppress your condition. Not after finally getting a decent job that paid well. Not after access to free treatment. Not after all the sacrifices you and others had made. Not now, not ever. You released a breath you didn’t realise you were holding and turned back to your hosts.

“Now, where were we?”.

Sherlock’s POV: 

I thought over Mrs. Hudson’s expressions when she evicted my brother from the flat. She was concerned for her apparent family, but, more interestingly, she was also scared for them. No, it wasn’t that. She was scared _of_ them. But why? Admittedly they were probably stronger and fitter than her, but it wasn’t as if they were going to turn on her. After all, she was getting rid of my annoying brother, not encouraging him. Perhaps they were unstable? That was possible, they did seem wary of something; themselves maybe? Split personality or schizophrenia perhaps. Afraid of losing control. They turned back to us and was that a different eye colour?! I blinked and it was normal. Hmm. Something was off about this player, and I didn’t know what. Not yet, anyway. They gave a strained smile to no one in particular and then continued with their conversation.

“Now where we?”

“A demonstration, I believe?” I frowned slightly as I asked the question.

“Ah, yes. Please don’t freak out _too_ mu-“

There was a snapping crack and suddenly a figure in black robes appeared in the room, face hidden by an engraved metal mask. Our player whipped around, simultaneously drawing what looked to be a switch of wood from inside their sleeve. The figure merely tilted their head sideways in response.

“What do you want?” came Mrs. Hudson’s shaky voice. The mask chuckled, its voice distorted slightly by the grill the noise came out of as it slowly raised its left arm, dragging the sleeve upwards and showing her its arm. Mrs. Hudson shrieked slightly and cowered away.

“That’s impossible!” she cried. “He’s DEAD!”

“No more, filth. He has returned, and all you and your kind will suffer. Especially you, _half-breed_.” It spat the last sentence towards the player.

“Lovely to see you too, Lestrange. How _was_ your stay in Azkaban? Pleasant, I hope?”

The woman, who’s gender was revealed after she began to speak, snarled in anger. “The _only_ reason I have not cut you down yet is because my lord has not willed it.”

“Mmm. Sureee.” Came the sarcastic reply. “Did he also will you to make a fool out of yourself?”

“What?”

They grinned then flicked their stick at the Lestrange person. As a thick, blue-black smoke filled the room a hand grabbed my arm then _spun_.  


End file.
